Love Letters
by NoCleverSig
Summary: James Watson has been courting Helen Magnus for weeks, but it will take a weekend in the country, a rakish young Lord, and a heated arguement to move their relationship forward.  No. 2 in "The Courtship of Helen Magnus"
1. Chapter 1: Bullets and Bridge

**Love Letters  
><strong>(Copyright 2011, NoCleverSig)

**Author's Note:** This is the second in "The Courtship of Helen Magnus" series following "Tango," but you don't have to read that first to enjoy. This is set ca. 1910ish. This particular story is an homage to those ever so fun to read regency novels! It's teen for now, but don't worry, angst and sex will surely follow and force it into the adult zone quite quickly ;). BTW, I don't own anything of Sanctuary or its characters, I simply play with them. Thank you, as always, to MajorSam for being the best beta ever. :) Please read and REVIEW...so appreciated! Peace-NCS

**Chapter 1: Bullets and Bridge**

James Watson was the perfect gentleman, a fact that frustrated Helen Magnus to no end.

For the past five weeks Watson and she had been officially "courting." They attended the theatre, ate dinner at the Savoy, strolled along the Serpentine, picnicked in the park, dined with friends, and visited museums. For other couples this new togetherness might have been a novelty, but for Magnus and Watson it was par for the course. They already resided jointly in the London Sanctuary, worked side by side daily, and often attended social events as a couple because it was…well…convenient.

The only things that had changed between them since their impromptu tango lesson, which had unleashed a passion in Watson that Helen had never before witnessed, was that James now held her arm in public, kissed her on the cheek goodnight, and referred to her as "darling" more often than not in front of friends.

It was positively exasperating.

"James, really," Helen sighed, picking a piece of lint off of his jacket as they drove up the driveway of Hall Barn Estate in Watson's Model T Ford. "It's a country party not a funeral."

"Party…funeral…the line is very thin, my dear," he replied sarcastically, his Panama hat sitting squarely on his head.

"Not if it's _your _funeral," Helen quipped. For all his intelligence and charm Watson hated elaborate social gatherings. Give him an intimate dinner party with intelligent conversation or a criminal to chase and he was in his element. Thrust a rifle in his hands and tell him to shoot pheasants for three days and he was overcome by melancholy.

"It's only Saturday to Monday," Helen continued, trying to cheer him. James looked sideways at her with an expression Magnus knew all too well. "Lord and Lady Burnham are great patrons of our work. You know that."

He nodded. "Indeed I do, which is the only reason I have agreed to spend the next three days in their company and the company of at least 20 other individuals I am barely acquainted with…massacring birds…incessantly."

Helen giggled, squeezed James' arm, and laid her head on his shoulder.

"Well, at least you get to shoot. I'm relegated to playing bridge for hours on end.

"But you love bridge, darling."

_Darling._ The way he said it made her heart skip.

"I do, but after hours of it my fingers become numb as does my brain."

James laughed. "Your brain is never numb, my dear. It's always thinking. Always plotting. I can practically hear it in my sleep."

Helen grinned. "And what else do you hear in your sleep, James?" she asked, her voice low and full of innuendo.

Watson cleared his throat. "Only my dreams, Helen. Only my dreams."

She sighed. Once again she'd thrown him a line and he'd refused to take hold of it. Helen knew James was attracted to her. She'd seen it in the way he glanced at her during dinner, watched her as she sat in rapt attention during a play, or brushed against her arm as they worked together in the Sanctuary. He'd made his intentions perfectly clear during their "dance" as had she, but since that afternoon they hadn't gotten past a quick kiss on the cheek or an innocent peck on the lips.

The desire was there, the camaraderie, trust, and attraction, but for some reason the physical element of their relationship: touching, holding, kissing…and perhaps more…had yet to manifest itself. Somewhat surprisingly, Helen found she missed it. Sex. She missed it dearly. She hoped a weekend in the country, away from the city, the Sanctuary, and the memories it held for them both, would be exactly what they needed to break the shyness that had suddenly enveloped Watson. If they added a few new Sanctuary patrons to their list after long conversations over bridge and bird killing, well, all the better.

They were escorted into the grand, country manor by Lord Burnham's butler, who led them to a large reception area where several guests had already arrived. After proper introductions were made, Lady Burnham, a plump, grey haired, middle-aged woman with a mischievous grin and a hearty laugh, sidled up to Magnus and took her by the crook of the arm, leading her away from the others.

"My dear Helen," she started, almost breathless. "I am so glad you and Dr. Watson could make it this year. I was afraid you might be on some grand adventure in the Congo, or that Dr. Watson would be chasing a vicious criminal about Trafalgar Square. You two live the most extraordinary lives!"

Helen smiled. Lady Burnham, "Alice or 'Allie'" to her friends, admired Magnus and her "modern" sensibilities and subsequently romanticized James' and her work. Well, usually it was romantic. Sometimes it was terrifyingly accurate.

Magnus shook her head. "My apologies, Lady Burnham, but no Congo adventures this summer. There is, however, a possibility that we shall be travelling to America quite soon, the Western part of the nation."

"America! My dear, you do realize that native tribes still run loose in the west? I've heard the most horrid things…."

"Most of the conflicts have ceased, my lady, but I'll be sure to be careful nonetheless."

"See that you are! We can't lose one of Britain's only female physicians to an Indian raid. It would be most unbecoming."

Before Helen could react, Lady Burnham glanced behind her shoulder at Watson who stood with four other gentlemen, including her husband, Lord Burnham, in deep conversation. The older woman turned and whispered into Helen's ear, holding Magnus' arm tight to keep her from escaping. If there was one thing Alice did best, it was gossip, and Magnus was sure she was about to get an earful.

"I hear that you and Dr. Watson have become quite…intimate…as of late," she whispered, giggling slightly at her own scandalous remark.

Helen paused for a moment. "Our affections for one another have grown beyond the bounds of friendship, it's true," she replied tactfully.

"Well," Lady Burnham continued. "It's about time I say! You two are like peas in a pod. Besides, you're a beautiful woman, and Dr. Watson," she remarked, casting an appreciative glance over her right shoulder, "is quite the handsome and accomplished gentleman. You two make a perfect match, and your children would be quite stunning I'm sure."

"Well…I…we…" Helen stammered, fairly certain that marriage, let alone children, weren't on either one of their minds, was it?

"Knowing this, I've taken the liberty of arranging your rooms in the same hallway."

When Helen simply stared at her, befuddled, Lady Burnham grinned and tickled Magnus' arm. "To make it easier, my dear! You won't have too far to wander in the middle of the night to find one another," she winked.

"Oh…," Magnus replied. "Oh!" she repeated more loudly, suddenly understanding her hostesses' intentions. It'd been several years since Helen had been to a country party. She'd forgotten that in addition to the shooting, card playing, cricket, and constant eating, love affairs were the order of the day. It wasn't uncommon for the hostess, particularly one as keen as Lady Burnham, to…facilitate…romantic liaisons. Or perhaps in this case, help consummate one.

_Hmm…_Magnus thought to herself, turning her head to look at James. He was obviously the center of attention now, entrancing the men in talk of his latest escapades with Scotland Yard no doubt. His charm, intelligence, and quick wit were at their zenith. He was a man completely in control of his domain.

Helen smiled.

He wouldn't know what had hit him.

* * *

><p>By time most of the guests had arrived, lunch was being served. Saturday's lunch was an informal affair, consisting of sandwiches, sherry, and some light beer, enough to ensure proper nourishment for the gentlemen before they began their afternoon hunt and to tide everyone else over until tea.<p>

James, having changed into his shooting outfit, departed with the men with a forlorn look on his face. Helen shook her head and grinned. Knowing Watson, he'd soon distract them from birds to bandits with tales of his brilliant criminal conquests.

Some of the women opted to stroll outside. A few of the younger, single girls played lawn tennis. Magnus chose Bridge, mostly because she knew Lady Burnham was obsessed with the game and would insist upon her as her partner, but also because it would occupy her mind and give her the opportunity to make important political contacts.

As predicted, Lady Burnham asked Helen to play. In exchange, Magnus requested that they vie against Lord Harrington's wife, Amelia, and Sir Baker's fiancée, Ruth, both of wealthy and influential families who could be important advocates for The Sanctuary.

Hours of gaming resulted in Magnus, with Lady Burnham's full support, enthralling Lady Harrington and the soon-to-be Lady Baker with descriptions of the Sanctuary and their remarkable research. So enraptured by Magnus' escapades were they that patronage from two of Britain's most wealthy families was sure to follow. If nothing came of this weekend other than that, then Magnus would chalk it up to an, albeit, sexually frustrating but unmitigated success.

Gossip soon followed with the talk centering on a certain young Lord Benbrook, expected at dinner time. He had only recently arrived back in England, having been banished to the continent by his family.

"I can't believe you actually asked him to come, Ally!" Lady Harrington gasped. She was a small, petite woman with chestnut brown hair. "He has the most scandalous reputation…particularly with the ladies," she added under her breath.

Lady Burnham blushed and fanned herself with her cards. "I had no choice Amelia! He's been welcomed home by his family and they are our neighbors, for goodness sake! He's in residence while his parents are abroad, and I couldn't very well host a party without inviting him."

"So what has this Lord Benbrook done that makes him so scandalous?" Magnus inquired, checking her hand, curiosity getting the best of her.

"Easier to recite what he hasn't done," Lady Harrington supplied, drawing a quiet giggle from the younger, blonde Ruth, who mostly sat and smiled throughout their various games.

Amelia leaned across the table toward Magnus, her voice low. "He's a handsome rake of a young man, black hair, black eyes. Fell into gambling…baccarat…hard. Was quite fortunate at it, for a time, till he began losing and his family had to settle his debts. They were so embarrassed that they banished him to France, and now it's said that he's made quite the reputation there as a ladies' man."

"Oh?" Magnus replied, easing into the gossip. Even she was allowed to turn her mind off every now and then.

"Indeed. In fact," Amelia paused, looking around, "I've heard he visited almost every brothel in Paris. Made a wager with a French navy commander as to who could bed the most women in one night…and won!" She paused. "It was 30."

"I heard 45," quipped young Ruth, looking over her hand.

Magnus laughed. "Well, if he's as young and mischievous as you all say then both numbers are most likely a grand exaggeration."

"Oh, but you haven't seen him, Dr. Magnus," Ruth practically gushed, her pink cheeks growing redder with either embarrassment or arousal, Magnus wasn't sure which. "He's…" the young girl paused. For a moment, Helen feared she might faint, overcome with thoughts of the dark, rakish, and randy Lord Benbrook.

"He's what, girl?" Lady Burnham urged her on.

Ruth sighed. "He's an Adonis. He looks like he stepped out of the Elgin Marbles themselves." She sighed again.

Lady Burnham laughed, Lady Harrington snickered, and Helen Magnus suddenly realized Sir Baker had more on his hands than he may have bargained for with his blushing bride to be.

* * *

><p>Afternoon tea came and went, bridge continued, strolls about the gardens occurred, and Magnus found that she was thoroughly bored to tears, eventually making her way to the library for some reading and solitude. Finally, the men arrived home bearing 396 dead pheasants.<p>

"What? Only 396?" she teased Watson. "A bit off your game, aren't you doctor?"

He shot her a frown. His clothes were rumpled, his dark hair tousled, and he was sweaty from the hunt. He smelled of dirt and musk and man.

The combination was positively enthralling.

Helen moved closer to James and gently trailed a finger down his right arm. "You look tired, James. Perhaps you should rest. It's been a rather long afternoon. Between the trip here, the hunting, and the incessant gossip, I could lie down as well," she said quietly, hoping he caught the invitation in her voice.

He looked up at her, his hazel eyes capturing her blue and holding them there for what seemed like minutes. He finally opened his mouth to speak when Lord Burnham came up from behind him, jolting them out of their mutual trance with a hearty slap to Watson's back.

"Good show old boy!" the tall and rather portly host proclaimed. He looked at Helen. "Your gentleman friend bagged the most birds today." He looked back at Watson. "I expect even greater things tomorrow, Watson! We were only getting warmed up this afternoon." Burnham trailed off to greet another of his guests, his booming voice echoing in the drawing room.

Helen cocked her head. "Bagged the most birds, did we?"

James grinned. "I didn't say I wasn't good, I said I didn't like it." His smile faded, and he looked away quickly. "Dinner's in an hour. I should change."

Helen nodded. "As should I."

"I'll pick you up in your room at 7:45 and escort you to the dining room."

"That would be lovely. Thank you, James," she said, smiling, trying to hide her disappointment.

* * *

><p>Magnus was checking her make up when the knock came at her door precisely at a quarter til 8.<p>

She walked over and opened it. James stood there dressed in his formal evening attire, a dark tail coat and trousers with a black waistcoat, white shirt, and white bow tie. His hair was slicked back and his moustache turned up. He was incredibly handsome, a fact she couldn't believe she had purposefully overlooked for so long.

He stared at her in turn, not saying a word, his eyes moving up and down her long, lean body. Her dress was rose colored, draped in the latest London fashion, and hung close to her form, revealing every curve. It had a white sash at the waist and a low neckline that hinted at the treasures beneath. A string of white pearls hung low and doubled around her neck.

The awkward, frustrating silence descended upon them again. This time it was James who finally broke it.

"You look ravishing, Helen. Simply ravishing."

He leaned forward, grabbed her gently by the elbow, and kissed her cheek. His moustache tickled her face. The heat of the simple touch, the gentle kiss, seared her skin. She swallowed.

"Thank you, James. You look quite handsome yourself," she choked, struggling to speak.

"What, this old thing?" he said, tugging at the lapels of his jacket.

The flippant comment had the desired effect. It made her laugh and broke the awkwardness between them. She took his offered arm and let him lead her downstairs to the dining room.

By time they arrived the drawing room was a buzz. Helen caught Lady Harrington's eye as she walked by with her husband.

"What's going on?" Magnus asked.

"He's here," Amelia whispered. She cocked her head toward the far wall where a tall young man in black tails and top hat stood looking extremely bored.

"Lord Benbrook I presume?"

"The same."

Helen had thought Ruth, soon to be Baker, prone to exaggeration given her youth, but dear god…

The girl was right. Lord Benbrook _was_ an Adonis.

He stood at least 6 foot 4 inches tall, his body lean and muscular under his perfectly tailored clothes. His shoulders were broad, his hair dark and wavy, and his eyes were so big and brown they looked almost black. His jaw was square and rugged. He had no facial hair, which set him apart from most men at the party, and there was an air of defiance about him that Magnus was sure drew the young women to him like flies.

Perhaps 30, even 45 women in one night, hadn't been so unrealistic after all?

She grinned at the thought. It was then he noticed her. Magnus knew she'd simply been appraising him, studying him as she would any Abnormal, albeit a rather attractive one. But to anyone else, more importantly to Lord Benbrook, it might appear she had been staring, and staring at a man across the parlor at a Country Party could only mean…

He smiled at her, his teeth perfectly straight and glimmering white. He tipped his hat and winked.

_Oh no,_ Magnus thought.

But it was too late. The gauntlet had been thrown. Lord Benbrook had just selected his next sexual conquest: the very single, very desirable, very enigmatic Dr. Helen Magnus.

_(to be continued)_


	2. Chapter 2: The Fox and the Hounds

**Love Letters  
><strong>(Copyright 2011, by NoCleverSig)

**Chapter 2: The Fox and the Hounds**

Lord Benbrook stared at Magnus throughout dinner. So much so that Lady Harrington looked permanently shocked, Lady Burnham snorted, Lord Burnham consumed only half his usual portion of roast, and young Ruth appeared as though she might burst into tears as did several other women around the long dining table.

Magnus suddenly felt the need to lock her door that night lest one of the girls attempt to choke her in her sleep.

The only person who didn't seem to notice Lord Benbrook's lascivious leer was James, which was more than ironic as Watson noticed everything. He went about his dinner chatting merrily with the intelligent Lady Carlisle and her husband, Sir Terrence, about the latest string of robberies in London's West End. Of course he made a point to bring up the Sanctuary and his work with Helen, introducing Magnus to the Carlisles and certainly adding another member of British royalty to their growing list of patrons.

Helen soon found herself absorbed in conversation with the couple. They were smart, engaging, and eager to learn of her and Watson's work. Lady Carlisle was particularly curious about Helen's education and applauded her tenacity for earning her degrees. By dinner's end, Helen was sure she'd earned a new and valuable female ally.

Lost in conversation, fine food, and drink, Magnus momentarily forgot about the randy Lord Benbrook. Then she heard a faint but rhythmic popping noise originating from across the table.

Helen looked up to see the young Lord, his dark hair draped sexily across his deep set eyes, with his lips pursed, slowly opening and closing them and making a distinct but subtle smacking sound as he did so. She squinted at him, not believing what she was seeing, when he lifted his eyebrows at her and winked.

"_Dear Lord..."_ Helen thought, meaning the one in heaven not the one sitting across the table from her opening and closing his mouth like a cod fish.

Magnus shook her head and turned to James, who continued his conversation with Sir Terrence, completely oblivious to the arduous advances pointedly being made in her direction. Lady Carlisle caught Helen's eye and leaned in, whispering.

"It appears you have a new suitor, my dear. Does your Dr. Watson know?" she smiled, flicking her eyes at James.

Helen glanced at Watson, still in rapt conversation with Sir Terrence, and turned back to Lady Carlisle, frowning. "When it comes to matters of the heart, my lady, Dr. Watson can be quite clueless," she said with an edge to her voice that surprised even her.

Lady Carlisle chuckled. "Don't worry, my dear. They all are."

Helen nodded in agreement, trying to tamp down the irritation she was beginning to feel toward a certain member of the male sex.

"_James Watson, intellectual genius indeed. Bloody hell…," _she thought, taking a final sip of wine and doing her best to avoid looking at, and listening to, the puckering Lord Benbrook.

* * *

><p>With dinner done, the men stayed behind to smoke cigars and drink brandy while the women retreated to the parlor for games, a convention Helen usually balked at. Tonight, however, Helen didn't have much of a choice. When in Rome…<p>

Lady Burnham, predictably, requested she join her for a round of Bridge, but Magnus politely declined, opting instead to gather with a group of women who were playing a game of charades. A young girl named Elizabeth was just beginning her turn when the dining room door opened and all heads swiveled to watch the tall, dark, and handsome Lord Benbrook, brandy in hand, enter the parlor and head straight for Helen Magnus like a hound to a fox.

_Lovely… _Helen thought, bracing herself for the hunt.

In mere moments Benbrook made his way to Magnus who stood leaning against the far wall next to Lady Carlisle. The older woman snickered in amusement as the young man sauntered up and scooted next to Helen, his cologne heralding his approach.

"Lady Carlisle," he purred, reaching out to kiss the older woman's white gloved hand. "Please introduce me to your charming friend," he demanded, eyeing Helen keenly.

Lady Carlisle sighed. "Lord Albert Benbrook, Dr. Helen Magnus," she said matter of factly. Magnus couldn't help but smile at the way she'd proudly emphasized the "doctor" in her name.

"Dr. Helen Magnus," Benbrook repeated. "Of the London Sanctuary fame. Your reputation precedes you." He took her hand and kissed it, purposefully lingering longer than was necessary.

"As does yours, Lord Benbrook," Magnus replied cattily. Benbrook laughed, his teeth a straight line of dazzling white.

"I'm sure it does. And please, call me Bertie."

"Bertie," Magnus repeated. "I do wonder; Why on earth are you here in the parlor when you could be smoking cigars and discussing world domination with the men?"

He laughed again. He really was a dizzyingly handsome young man.

"Britain already dominates the world, my dear, Helen. May I call you Helen?" he asked without pausing and continued, assuming he may. "Besides, there are far more interesting things out here," he replied, his gaze traveling unapologetically up and down Magnus' trim form. The intensity of his perusal, as though she might as well be standing in the parlor naked, made her shiver.

"Last time I checked, charades wasn't the most intellectually stimulating activity," she tossed back, hoping he hadn't noticed her momentary fluster.

"Intellectually stimulating, no. Yet stimulating none the less," he argued, his voice a low growl.

The term 'forward' didn't begin to describe young Benbrook's behavior. Scandalous, shocking, and outrageous, perhaps. Suddenly Helen's mind wandered to Watson, thinking a dose or two of the young lord's sexual bravado would do the doctor some good.

Just then the doors of the dining room opened and the men streamed out reeking of cigars, brandy, and port. Some, those who had overindulged, wobbled. James being James walked straight as an arrow across the grand marble floor directly toward Magnus.

Helen automatically smiled at his approach and noticed out of the corner of her eye that Lord Benbrook frowned. He obviously knew she was spoken for and by whom. The fact hadn't stopped the young man, but now it appeared to have irritated him. She saw how he looked at Watson, a simple stone to be kicked away with his boot.

"Helen," James greeted her, kissing her on the cheek. "Having a wonderful time my dear?" he asked his hazel eyes twinkling.

"Oh, splendid, James, simply splendid," she replied sarcastically. He knew she found the convention of the men remaining behind to discuss "matters of consequence" while the woman were relegated like children to the parlor to play games insulting.

"James, have you met Lord Benbrook?" she said, indicating the now sullen young man at her side.

Watson turned and extended his hand. "Indeed I have. Pleasure to see you again, my lord. Joining us for a bit of shooting in the morning, son?"

Helen narrowed her eyes at James, the "son" reference catching her ear. Had James just subtly dressed down a lord of the realm? Surely not.

"I derive no great pleasure from hunting birds, Dr. Watson," Benbrook replied. "At least not the feathered kind."

Magnus flicked her eyes back to Benbrook.

Watson went on, seemingly undisturbed. "Well, hunting birds can be more perilous than one thinks, my lord, depending upon the species. Pheasants, of course, are not the most intelligent of avian creatures. However many members of the corvidae family, such as the common crow, are known for their cleverness. One must be careful not to be outwitted by them…and other birds, which may not be so common."

Helen flicked her eyes back to James, raising an eyebrow.

"Your point is well taken, Dr. Watson. We must both be careful in our hunts. Best of luck to you tomorrow," Lord Benbrook said, extending his hand. He turned to Magnus, bowing. "Dr. Magnus. I look forward to learning more about you," he hesitated, "and your Sanctuary, of course, in the morning. Sleep well." He turned and walked out of the parlor. Predictably, virtually every female eye followed him in his wake.

"Charming young man," James commented when he'd left. Lady Carlisle, who'd been standing nearby during the short but interesting conversation, grinned.

"Are you ready to retire my dear, or would you like to stay and continue the charades?" Watson asked. She cocked her head and looked at him.

"It's been a long day, James, I think I'll turn in. Will you escort me to my room?"

"Certainly, darling."

James extended his arm, and Helen took it. They said their good nights and headed toward the upper chambers.

Magnus wasn't sure what had just transpired between James and the young Bertie Benbrook, but whatever it was, she was certain it had nothing to do with pheasants.

* * *

><p>A few moments later she was at her doorway, her room situated directly across from James. On the way he briefed her on the conversations he'd had in the dining room. Neither one of them mentioned Lord Benbrook.<p>

"Well," she hesitated, standing in front of her door, feeling suddenly shy. "It was a most...interesting evening, don't you agree?" she finally proclaimed.

"Oh, indeed," Watson nodded. "Dinner was splendid. The Carlisles seem eager to extend their patronage to our efforts."

"Yes, Lady Carlisle was particularly pleasant to talk to."

They were speaking like strangers in crisp, stuttering sentences, not the fast friends that they were or the lovers they were working to become. _When had this happened_? Magnus wondered. More importantly, _why had it happened_?

"James…"

"Helen…"

They spoke each other's names simultaneously and laughed. Magnus peered down the hallway. It was dimly lit and quiet. Most of the guests had remained downstairs, having arrived much later than James and she. He'd been driving all morning and hunting all afternoon, she knew he was tired, but she wished that he'd…

Unexpectedly Magnus felt a warmth on her cheek. James pressed the palm of his hand against her face, gently turning her head toward him. With his left hand he reached out for her fingers and tenderly squeezed them. She looked into his eyes. Even in the soft light she could see them filled with desire. He smiled at her, making her stomach flutter.

James guided her to the wall, gently pressing her back against it, moving them into shadow and out of the reach of the soft yellow globes that lit the hallway. He wrapped his arms around her, trailing his hands up and down her back. The feather light touches made her shiver.

"You are…so beautiful, Helen," he whispered, his voice low and shaky. She put her arms around his waist in return, reaching up to caress his back, lingering over the taught muscles under his shirt and coat.

He gazed at her again, smiled once more, and then dipped his head low pressing his lips softly against hers. They were moist and warm and sweet and tasted of brandy and...James. Helen closed her eyes, tilted her head to one side, and parted her lips slightly. His grip on her waist tightened in response, and he pressed his body against her. James opened his mouth wider and traced her lips with his tongue, sending her senses reeling. She opened her mouth fully, and he suddenly swallowed her whole, kissing her so deep and so hard she couldn't breathe, couldn't think, riding waves of pleasure.

Abruptly he broke off the kiss, leaving Magnus breathless and bereft, then took it up again along her neck. He nibbled her earlobe, dipping his tongue in and out of her ear, and then worked his way down her soft, ivory skin to her shoulder and back up again. The warm, wet sensations sent goose bumps up and down her spine and heat to her center. She could feel wetness gathering between her legs, the desire growing inside her womb.

"James," she moaned in his ear, bunching his jacket in her fists, trying to maneuver him toward the door. She tilted her head, and he switched sides, kissing her other ear, working his way down as he'd done before until he found the tiny scar on her shoulder, the one he'd helped clean, the one John had left during one of their final, more violent, encounters.

_If she could only reach the door handle to her room, she could open it from behind, pull James inside…._

He stopped. As suddenly as he started, James stopped.

Helen's eyes flew open.

Watson had stepped back, his hands resting lightly against her waist. She stared at him, confused.

"James?"

"I'm…you're…we're… tired, Helen," he finally said. "It's been a long day. You should rest. We'll…We'll talk tomorrow. Good night, darling."

He leaned in, quickly kissed her cheek, spun on his heels, opened his door, and slipped inside so swiftly he could have been Nigel as rapidly as he'd disappeared.

Magnus slumped against the wall for a moment, catching her breath and her composure. Her heart was racing so fast she could hear the blood rushing to her head. Every cell in her body was on fire, and James… had left.

Simply left.

_What the bloody hell?_ she wondered angrily.

She would kill him. Kill him or make love to him. No. Make love to him then kill him. Yes, that was it. Either way James Watson was a dead man.

Whether he'd die a happy one was up to him.

_(to be continued)_


	3. Chapter 3: Stables and Studs

**Love Letters  
><strong>(Copyright 2011, NoCleverSig)

**Chapter 3: Stables and Studs**

It took every ounce of Helen Magnus' strength to keep from knocking on Watson's door and demanding an explanation. She lay awake most of the night replaying the evening's events, searching for answers. Her mind consistently returned to the same moment: James ardenty kissing her in the hallway, and then suddenly fleeing like a racehorse at Ascot.

_What the devil was going on?_

Did he not find her attractive? No, she knew that he did. It wasn't vanity, it was simple truth. He'd told her so repeatedly. Had she said something, done something to discourage him? She scoffed at that. She had his jacket firmly in hand and was doing an admirable job of dragging him toward her doorway. He'd be an idiot not to recognize her willingness, nay; eagerness to press forward, and James Watson was no idiot.

No, he knew she wanted him. He wanted her too, or so she'd thought.

Perhaps that's where she'd been mistaken.

Watson had had other lovers, including several dalliances at Oxford. But there had been one very serious relationship in London. Her name was Sally Caulfield, and she was the daughter of a physician friend. He'd courted her quite intently at the time and had spoken to Magnus in confidence about proposing to her not long after Helen had revealed her intention to marry John. He'd even asked Magnus to read a love letter that he'd written to Sally. Her heart raced at the thought of it. While John had always been eloquent with his body, Watson was eloquent with words. The one letter she'd read was remarkable, poignant and poetic. If words alone could make a woman fall in love, then James could have had all of England at his feet.

But something had happened between Sally and James. Watson never revealed what, but their relationship ended abruptly. Then the Ripper murders began, John disappeared, James helped her pick up the pieces from that devastation, Magnus took over her father's work, and life became focused solely on the Sanctuary. Neither one of them had had a serious relationship since.

Until this…whatever _this_ was between them.

A mistake. That's what Helen feared the most. A horrible, dreadful, terrible mistake. She and James had been friends for years. They thought alike, practically finished each other's sentences, and when they didn't, it was because they didn't need to speak.

With John there'd been a spark, an undeniable fire that had attracted her to him and him to her before their friendship ever took root. With James, the process had been reversed.

Magnus always thought friendship was the basis for a lasting relationship; not simple lust or physical attraction, but deep and abiding trust. So when James and she began courting, she assumed their relationship would flourish. Unfortunately, just the opposite had occurred. It became awkward between them, and rather than grow, their friendship suffered.

Maybe it had been an awful mistake after all.

Either way, they needed to sort this out. They'd been avoiding the issue for too long. For the sake of their selves, and more importantly their work, the matter needed to be resolved whatever the result.

* * *

><p>Deciding that sleep was unnecessary and unlikely to occur, Magnus rose early, conducted her morning ministrations, and dressed, hoping to catch Watson before he left for the day's hunt. She steeled herself, ready to face James and discuss what had happened, why it happened, why it kept happening, and to break things off between them if he so desired. She hoped he didn't, but she'd let that be his decision. Their work, their friendship was what was most important.<p>

She opened her door to cross the hall to his room when she saw a letter, neatly folded and placed in an envelope, waiting at her threshold. She stooped to pick it up and found it was from James. His handwriting was beautiful, fluid, and unmistakable.

_Dearest Helen,_

_At the request of Lord Burnham, I have left early for today's hunt. The pheasants, I fear, shall be most displeased. I shall return to the manor in time for dinner with, no doubt, at least 1,000 dead birds in tow, poor things. I hope your day won't be too…tedious. _

_I miss you already._

_All my love,_

_James_

"I miss you already…all my love, James…."

Helen shook her head. The man was frustrating her to no end. One moment he was running away, the next he was confessing how much he cared. It was positively exasperating.

This wasn't the James Watson she knew, master detective and intellectual genius. This was someone else, more like Adam Worthy and his terrible Hyde persona than Sherlock Holmes.

She sighed. There was nothing to be done about it now. Watson was gone for the day, and she was here. Worry was a pointless waste of energy when no immediate solution was at hand. She might as well do what she came here to do, acquire new patrons for the Sanctuary, and perhaps, even enjoy her Sunday.

* * *

><p>Helen ate breakfast, strolled the gardens, played Bridge, joined a group for lunch, and attained at least three new patrons for the Sanctuary all by 2 p.m. By early afternoon the day had turned gorgeous! The morning fog had lifted to reveal blue skies and green, sloping hills. Rather than retreat to the library as she'd done on Saturday, she chose fresh air. At the urging of Lady Burnham, she changed into her riding clothes and walked to the stables. It'd been over a year since she'd taken out a horse, and she missed the exercise dearly.<p>

She looked over Lord Burnham's stable and selected a fine white mare named Lucille, saddling the equine herself, promising the stable boy she wouldn't tell the lord that he'd been remiss in his duties. Magnus believed there was no better way to get to know a horse than to groom and saddle it. It was a manner of introduction. Also, if she mounted the saddle and adjusted the bit and reins herself, she could be sure they wouldn't fail her.

She rode out across Hall Barn Estate, the sun shining on the wildflowers that scattered the fields. At first she went easy with Lucille, walking her, allowing her to stretch and warm up, getting to know her as the horse was getting to know Magnus. After awhile, when they had become comfortable with one another, Magnus took her to a trot and then to a gallop. Soon they were flying over low stone walls, and for the first time in ages, Helen relaxed.

After almost two hours had passed, they headed back to the stables. Thomas, the young groomsman, offered to take Lucille and wipe her down, but Magnus insisted upon doing it herself. Truth be told the afternoon had taken her mind off of things, and spending time with the horse was a million times more peaceful then participating in yet another round of Bridge or charades or tea or the endless gossip that ran rampant in the country house during the day.

"That's a fine mare. Does she ride well?"

Helen was brushing Lucille's neck when she heard the voice from behind her. She didn't need to turn around to know that it belonged to Lord Benbrook who was standing in the stable entry.

"Exceptionally," she answered him continuing her grooming.

She heard him chuckle and felt him approach. His leather clad feet made soft footfalls against the dirt and hay. He drew up beside her in his riding outfit, his body tall and trim. He grabbed Lucille by the halter and scratched her muzzle.

"It's good you took her out. From the looks of things, she hasn't been ridden in a while. A fine horse like this should stretch her legs. It's a shame to let such beauty and energy go to waste. Don't you agree Dr. Magnus?"

Helen sighed, unsure whether she should be amused or insulted by Benbrook's obvious double entendre. She chose to be amused. He wasn't worth getting upset over.

"I believe she's been exercised far more than you might think, my lord."

He grinned wildly, obviously pleased that she'd chosen to play along, reaching down into the bucket to grab a brush.

"May I?" he asked.

"As you wish," she answered.

They groomed the mare in silence, their arms brushing each other's from time to time.

"So, she's a well broken horse you say?" Benbrook said after a few moments, brushing her mane. "She must make for a most interesting ride then. An experienced horse paired with an experienced horseman can make a stunning team. When things go well, it's almost as though they become one, galloping across the fields, losing themselves in the moment together…."

Despite her best efforts not to, Helen's breath quickened, and her heart sped up. The young man was about as subtle as a landslide and she would normally scoff at such lunacy, but he had a unique sensuality to him that heated the air like lightning.

"Is there something you wanted Lord Benbrook?" she said impatiently, turning to face him for the first time.

He looked at her and smiled, his eyes sweeping up and down her tall leather boots, fitted trousers, and billowing white blouse.

"Very much so, yes."

Before she could stop him, he grabbed Magnus around the waist and pulled her toward him, kissing her mouth in a wide, wet embrace. Her hands flew to his chest and she shoved, trying to push him off of her, but he was too strong. He tightened his grip and thrust his tongue into her mouth.

_That's it!_ she thought angrily.

Magnus pulled her arms back down and slammed them against Lord Benbrook's forearms, breaking his grip on her waist. Before he could recover from the shock, she pulled her right arm back, and blasted the heel of her hand into his solar plexus, making the 6'4" lord crash to the ground.

"Lord Benbrook!" she shouted, as he rolled in the dirt and hay working to catch his breath. "I am here with Dr. Watson, a point you well know, and I have abided your flirtatious manner quite long enough!"

He lay on the ground writhing, his hand extended into the air for aid. Magnus sighed.

She walked toward him and held out her hand to help him up when he yanked her into the pile and rolled on top of her.

"Bloody hell!" she shouted. Benbrook laughed.

"You look good on your back, Helen. You should try it more often."

She opened her mouth to speak, but he covered it again with his own. She reached her hand back and slapped him across the face. Hard.

"What part of NO do you not understand!" she yelled.

He grinned from ear to ear.

"Helen," he smiled, looking down at her. "Dr. Watson? Really? I mean, the man is an intellectual genius, I'll give him that, but otherwise he's cold as a cod fish." He took his hand and twirled it in her blonde curls. "If there's one thing I know, it's women, and you are the type that craves darkness, needs it, lives for the thrill of it. Does he really do that for you, Helen? Because frankly, I don't see it."

"Get off of me!" she shouted, pushing him off and pulling herself up and out of the hay. "You don't know anything about James Watson!"

"I know he doesn't keep you satisfied. If he did, you wouldn't have been on that horse for two hours," he looked up at her, his dark hair tousled with hay.

"How…" she stopped, momentarily shocked. "How dare you!"

He smiled. "If it's satisfaction you're seeking, my dear, I'm open for business," he said, patting his thigh.

Out of the corner of her eye Magnus spied a pitch fork. She had to leave. Now. If she didn't, she might grab it and shove it in Benbrook's face.

She turned on her boot heels and began walking away.

"Hit a nerve, did I Dr. Magnus?" he called after her.

"Stay away!" she warned him over her shoulder. As she exited the stable she heard him laugh.

"You'll come back! They always do."

* * *

><p>"One thousand three hundred and fifty-five," James reported.<p>

"You're not serious?" Helen asked him, scooping up a bite of peas.

"Completely, darling."

Sir Terrence bobbed his head forward to look past James and down the dining table at Helen, his grey hair distinguished looking on his long, pointed face.

"Even I will admit that perhaps we overdid it a bit."

Watson laughed.

"Are there any pheasants left in Buckinghamshire?" Lady Carlisle asked.

"Very good question," James replied. "No."

The four of them chuckled. Saturday's dinner had been a pleasant affair this time, mostly due to the fact that Lord Albert Benbrook was nowhere to be found. Magnus wondered if she'd physically hurt the young lord in the stable, but quickly dismissed the notion.

She couldn't be so lucky.

"And you, my dear, you haven't told me of your day," Watson asked, laying his hand over Helen's. She smiled at the gesture. He wasn't one for public displays of affection. Lately, he wasn't one for displays of affection at all, but that was really neither here nor there.

"Oh, nothing unusual to report. Bridge, charades, a horseback ride."

"Is that where you were, Helen?" Lady Carlisle inquired. "We missed you at afternoon tea."

"Yes, I haven't ridden in ages, and it was a beautiful day," Helen smiled.

James narrowed his eyes at her.

"Did you fall?" he asked, looking concerned.

"Fall? No, darling. Why would you think that?"

James leaned forward and put his hand to Helen's head, pulling out the smallest strand of hay that had hidden in her blonde hair. He put it in her hand.

"Just curious," he smiled.

Helen stiffened and swallowed hard. She'd done nothing wrong, nothing at all to be ashamed of. Yet she had to admit, a part of her had been oddly aroused by Bertie Benbrook's advances. He was young and careless and…

Dark.

Like John. Even before he became the Ripper, there had been a sinfulness about John, a predilection for violence, which attracted her to him like a moth to a flame. Was that the kind of man she was destined to love? Someone who was cruel, caustic, sadistic?

She looked at James. He was now in rapt conversation with the Carlisles, his face beaming with excitement at whatever tale he was telling. He and John had been best friends, yet they were worlds apart. James was introspective, intellectual, and extraordinarily kind. John was physical, impulsive, and intimidating.

Was Benbrook right? Is that what she craved? Is that what James saw in her when he got too close and therefore backed away?

Magnus continued to smile throughout dinner, popping in and out of the conversation with the Carlisles, but her appetite had waned.

She ate little after that.

* * *

><p>As was the custom, James conversed with the men after dinner and Helen with the women. She was quite sure that should she ever see a deck of cards again she might set it on fire.<p>

When the men were done with their brandy and cigars, they rejoined the ladies. She and James spent the next hour listening to Lady Burnham's niece, Clarice, entertain them on the piano. Fortunately, for everyone's ears, she was quite gifted.

Lord Benbrook never did make an appearance at dinner, or after, a fact which had most of the single women looking sideways at Helen, sure she had done something to break his handsome heart. The men assumed he was off drunk and whoring and paid the matter no addtional heed.

After an appropriate length of time, Helen and James said their good nights, and he escorted her, like he had the night before, to their chambers. But unlike last night, Helen's mood was melancholy. Try as she might to hide it, it was impossible.

"Helen," James said squeezing her hand as he stood outside her door. "Is something the matter? Did something happen today to upset you?"

There was a reason he was a masterful detective.

"No," she lied. "I'm just… tired, James." She smiled half-heartedly at him.

He narrowed his eyes at her and nodded, obviously wanting to ask more but not desiring to push her. "Very well my dear. Get some rest then. We'll leave for London after breakfast."

He kissed her on the cheek, and she turned to unlatch her door.

"Helen," he called out.

She turned back around.

"I love you."

She smiled at him. "I love you too, James. Good night."

He nodded and went inside.

* * *

><p>The sound of a creaking board woke her. Someone or something was moving in the darkness of her room. Magnus lay perfectly still, pretending to sleep, opening her eyes just wide enough to see if she could make out the intruder. Just then a shadow darted past the foot of her bed and she bolted upright.<p>

"Who's there?" she demanded, bracing herself. She paused, thinking.

"James?" she asked hesitantly.

When no one replied, Helen turned to the lamp by her bedside and lit it, casting the room in a soft glow.

"James?" she asked again. "Is that you?"

"Sorry to disappoint, my dear."

Albert Benbrook stepped out of the shadows right beside Magnus' bed.

"What the…."

"Watson? You really expected that old man?" he laughed, a silver flask in his hand. He reeked of cigar smoke and gin. His white shirt was unbuttoned to his trousers, and his suspenders hung loose at his sides.

"Get out of my room! Now!" Helen demanded.

Benbrook took another swig from his flask and tossed it to the floor, stretching out over Magnus' bed. "You and I have unfinished business, Dr. Magnus," he slurred, his eyes swimming in red. He stared up at her and smiled. "I like your hair, Helen. You should wear it down more often."

"I'm warning you, Benbrook," Helen growled.

"Warning me? Warning me!" he laughed turning onto his back, throwing his head down. "You know, you look just as beautiful upside down as you do right side up," he giggled.

"You're drunk."

"Brava! I am! And randy too…care to oblige me?"

"Leave now. I won't ask you again," she warned.

"Or what?"

"Or I shall be forced to hurt you."

Benbrook howled.

"Hurt me? A woman?"

In a flash Magnus crossed the bed and grabbed Benbrook by the neck, holding him in a chokehold. The lord's eyes flew open in surprise then narrowed. He grabbed her arm and twisted it, making Magnus wince in pain and let go. Benbrook flipped over and knocked Magnus back down onto the bed, pinning her arms away from her sides and straddling her body.

"Want to play, eh?" he grinned, easing her long white gown up her thighs with his knee. "I told you I knew what you liked."

Magnus answered him with a knee of her own to his groin. The air flew out of his lungs with an "Oof!" and he doubled over in pain. Helen broke free and rolled off the bed, tumbling onto the floor and looking around for anything she could use as a weapon. She spotted the porcelain chamber pot under the bed and grabbed it, standing up and jumping away from the bed.

"You bloody whore!" Benbrook shouted, stumbling onto the ground beside her. "All I wanted to do is give you some satisfaction, you sodding wench!"

"Stay back! I'm warning you Benbrook!"

"Warning me? Again?" he screamed. "I'll warn you! By time this night is over I'll have had you three ways to Sunday you bleed'n…"

Helen swung the chamber pot and hit Benbrook square in the face. He fell like a giant log into the small, wooden vanity, sending it and every little bottle and brush that it held, crashing to the floor.

He lay in a heap of rubble, unconscious.

Magnus still stood above him, chamber pot still in hand, catching her breath when she heard a quiet rap on her door.

She dropped the chamber pot by Benbrook's head, turned to the door, and opened it. James Watson stood in the threshold, shirt barely buttoned and hanging loose from his trousers.

"Helen! Are you alright? I heard noises," he said.

Magnus stared at him, heat rising in her cheeks.

"No, I am NOT all right!" she cried.

James looked shocked.

"Darling, what's wrong?"

"What's…? Lord Benbrook broke into my room and attempted to have his way with me is what's wrong!"

Watson chuckled, a reaction Magnus didn't expect. "Really? And how did that go? Not well for the young lord I'm betting."

Helen blinked, opened the door wide, and stepped back to reveal the rakish Benbrook lying on the floor.

Watson laughed out loud.

"As I presumed. Good show, darling."

"Good show?" she asked, positively fuming.

James looked down at Benbrook again and back up at Helen.

"Very good show?" he asked cautiously.

Helen turned round and marched toward the bed, seating herself on the edge, arms clenching the sheets beneath her in frustration. Watson followed her, shutting the door as he entered.

"You didn't notice his attentions toward me the past day and a half?" she asked, voice raised.

"Of course I noticed," James protested. "Even the 2,000 dead pheasants noticed, he was that obvious."

"Then why didn't you do something? Intervene?"

"Why didn't I…? Wait…You didn't think I took his advances toward you seriously?"

"Why in heaven's name not!" she practically shouted.

James laughed. "Helen, he's just a boy! Your head is squarely on your shoulders. I know your affections lie with me, I needn't worry about you dallying with some arrogant, landed bastard. Besides, I knew you had the situation well in hand."

"Well in hand?" she repeated incredulously.

Watson glanced down at the unconscious form of the formerly dashing Lord Benbrook.

"Yes, well in hand."

"Damn it, James!" she cursed.

"Helen!" He chided her, shocked at her language. He looked at her again, recognition suddenly dawning. "You wanted me to be jealous?"

She looked up at him, her expression softening. "Yes…a little," she admitted.

James crossed to her side and took her gently by the arms. "Helen, darling, I trust you completely, you know that." He looked at her, searching her eyes. "Is there a reason I should not?"

She looked back at him and shook her head. "Of course not, no. It's just... Damn, it James!" She pulled out of his arms, folded hers across her chest, walked toward the window, and then turned around to face him.

"Why haven't you made advances toward me?" she asked flatly.

He looked at her, puzzled.

"Why haven't I…what?"

"You know precisely what I mean, James, don't pretend that you don't!" she argued, raising her voice. "Ever since our relationship…changed, since we've been together as a couple, you've pulled away from me rather than growing closer. You won't touch me, not in the way I expected, not as a lover should. Why?"

James was silent, avoiding her eyes.

"I want to know why!"

"Because you still love him!" he shouted, his voice booming across the room.

Helen jumped at the sound. James rarely raised his voice.

"And because John Druitt was my friend…. My _best _friend, Helen!" Watson paced the room, dragging his fingers through his hair. "He's like a dark cloud that hovers over us, that hovers over me!" His voice dropped. "For God's sake, you conceived his child. You _kept_ his child!"

There it was. The explanation for his hesitancy, the reason why he wouldn't fully commit.

Magnus' heart sank. She had no answer for that.

They stood there in silence for a moment, neither one of them meeting the other's eyes.

"I'll get someone to…clean this up," Watson finally said, motioning to Benbrook. "We leave for London first thing in the morning. In the meantime try…try to get some rest."

He walked away.

She wondered, once they got to London, if he would keep walking.

_(to be continued)_


	4. Chapter 4: Letters and Lovers

**Love Letters  
><strong>(Copyright 2011, NoCleverSig)

**WARNING: **Half of this chapter is adult/mature, but in a misty way I hope. You'll know it when you see it. If you don't like that sort of thing, skip it and move to the last story break. Since this is the only part of this story that is mature/adult, I'm leaving the rating Teen, but giving you fair warning here.

**Chapter 4: Letters and Lovers**

They arrived in London after lunch. The car ride home had been uncomfortably quiet. Helen had pretended to sleep while James had pretended to let her. By late afternoon their caretaker, Mr. Ware, had updated them on the state of the Sanctuary, and Magnus had settled into her favorite chair to read Carl Jung's draft of his, _"Psychology of the Unconscious,"_ which he'd asked Helen to review. She wasn't sure where James had gone, probably to catch up on his cases with Scotland Yard. He hadn't told her.

Try as she might to avoid it, her mind kept returning to their argument the night before.

"_You're still in love with him," _he'd said.

Was she? Would she always be in love with John Druitt? And what of James? Did she love him as well? She thought she did. Was it even possible to be in love with two such different men?

Then there was the matter of James' and John's friendship. When it was revealed that Druitt was the Ripper, it had torn Watson's heart as well as her own. She'd either never considered, or easily dismissed, what it might do to him to become romantically involved with her, his best friend's fiancé.

Men had an unwritten code, and what James and she were doing broke it. It didn't matter that John was gone, a criminal, their engagement shattered. He had been Watson's closest friend, and now James had stepped into John's place, like a scavenger to carrion.

James was right. A dark cloud hovered over them, and Magnus longed for a gust of fresh air to blow it all away.

The door to the library creaked open, and Helen looked up. James entered wearing a white shirt, grey vest, and black trousers and carrying a small ivory box. He was cleanly shaven, which she adored. It made him look even more handsome if that was possible. He was one of the kindest, most intelligent, most caring individuals she'd ever known. Her chest tightened. How in God's name could she let him slip away?

He walked over to her, and she set the manuscript down.

"We should talk," he said softly, his voice smooth and low.

She nodded. "Yes, we should."

"Before we do, I need to share some things with you, Helen. Things I've never told anyone. I think if you knew them, you would better understand my…hesitancy, as you called it. I'd like you to read these," he said, handing her the box, "Then we can speak."

She looked at him, puzzled. It was a beautiful ivory box, hinged by copper metal, with James' initials in scripted gold on the front. She opened it. It was full of papers neatly stacked from front to back.

"They're letters," he said, his hands now in his pockets. "Some of them were written quite a long time ago."

"James, I don't under…"

He stopped her in mid-sentence, removing his hand from his pocket and settling it lightly atop hers. "Don't worry, you will. I'll be in my study." He started to walk away but turned back again. "Read from the back forward. They'll make more sense that way." He smiled at her and left, leaving Helen with the box in her lap.

The afternoon sun was setting through a blanket of heavy clouds , casting the small library in a murky, orange glow. Helen set Jung's thesis down on the small table beside her, picked up the box, and carried it to the desk next to the window that overlooked the gardens beneath the second floor of the Sanctuary. She tucked her long yellow dress underneath her and settled into the chair, scooting close to the table. Helen opened the container and saw at least twenty letters all neatly stacked and folded. She pulled the last one out as he'd directed and opened it, holding it up to the dim light coming in from the window.

"_Dearest Love,"_ it began in James strong, graceful hand.

She paused, dipped her eyes to the container again, and searched for an envelope to go with it. There were none, only letters. She pulled another out randomly, marking her place as she did so to keep them in order. It was addressed the same. They all were. "Dearest Love..."

Puzzled, she began reading.

_October 26, 1885_

_Dearest Love,_

_I watched you cross the quadrangle today, with your head held high and your arms full of books as you marched determinedly toward the library at Christ Church. Our dear friend Nikola is right. You would fit in much better here if you dressed the part, a chaste woman in black. Ah, but then again, you wouldn't be you, would you? And if you were not you, I might be able to breathe again, sleep again, eat again without seeing you always in my mind's eye. _

Helen paused. In 1885 they had been at Oxford and had already formed The Five. Surely this letter wasn't meant for….No, James had had several romances at school. She read on.

_I fear I am falling in love with you, a state which I have always been dubious of, having never experienced the emotion myself and having been warned of its urgency by others who've felt its sting. I have told no one until now, until my pen scribbled the words almost of their own volition in this letter, a letter I doubt I shall give you but retain for myself. I hope it will bring me courage enough to approach you one day and tell you what has become rooted so deeply in my heart._

_All my love,_

_James_

She refolded it, her mind racing, and pulled out the next.

_January 5, 1886_

_Dearest Love,_

_There is a saying, "He who hesitates is lost." It is a simple phrase, but eloquent in its truth. I have dallied, fearful of sharing my heart with you, of toppling the friendship we have so carefully crafted, and now, I discover I have waited too long and in doing so may have lost that which I desire most. _

_I see you look at another, and I see him return your gaze. Although I am no expert in the emotions of the heart, I do believe what I bear witness to are a man and a woman falling in love. Unfortunately for me, you are the woman, but I am not the man._

_I would be a fraud to say it doesn't break my heart. It does. But how can I begrudge your beauty, your intellect, your quest for knowledge to one so dear to me? _

_Perhaps I am mistaken and nothing will come of it. Only time will tell._

"How can I begrudge…to one so dear to me."

No, it wasn't possible, she thought. She would have known. All these years, she would have known.

_April 15, 1886_

_Dearest Love,_

_You returned from your picnic with your face flush, your dress mussed, his pants stained with grass. _

_My powers of observation have not betrayed me. I wish him, I wish you, all the happiness in the world and yet…My heart sinks to know that he has had you._

Dear God… Helen thought, her fingers flying to the next letter and then the next, pulling out snippets from each. Her heart pounded, her mind was spinning with each passing phrase.

_You showed me your ring today, an opal in the center with diamond stones. You were giddy with joy. I cannot recall a time in which I've seen you smile more. It made me smile in return, if only for the fact that I helped to choose it for him. If roles had been reversed, I would have selected the same and would have been honored to be the one to place it on your hand._

_I have never spoken to him of my feelings for you, and yet, I believe I have betrayed him. If not with my body, then with my mind. Certainly with my heart…._

_There is a woman, whose company I have kept to try to remove my mind from you. As you prepare to begin your life with him, I shall begin mine with her._

_I will ask her to marry me. She is intelligent, good, and kind of spirit. We would make a suitable match. She will never take your place in my heart, my darling, but your place belongs with another…_

Helen's fingers were trembling; sure of what she would see next. She removed the letter that followed with shaking hands.

_Dearest Love,_

_How do I put into words what burns so bright in my heart? How do I convey, from mind to pen, the emotions that stir my soul?_

_When I look at you, I see all that I desire. Your smile is like a star that bathes me in its gentle light. Your laughter, so rare a treat, sets my heart aflame. Your mind, so quick and bright, mesmerizes me with its cleverness._

_I have never told you of my feelings for you. I tell you now so that you will know, at least this once, how much I care._

_I am a man lost…_

Helen let the yellowed paper slip from her grasp onto the table. She closed her eyes, folded her fingers, and rested her chin on her hands, listening to the soft rain that had begun to fall onto the rose garden below.

It was the letter James had asked her to read so many years ago. The letter he'd said was meant for Sally Caulfield. He'd written it for her.

Every letter he'd written for her….

She breathed deep and opened her eyes, absorbing the revelation.

James Watson had loved her for years, before she and John had been a couple, while they were together, and after they had ended. And the idea that he was in love with his best friend's fiancé had torn at his soul.

Magnus' mind raced. How would their lives have changed if she had known? If James had approached her first? Would she have fallen in love with him then? Would they have married? Had children? Would she and John never have happened, or had fate already set their path?

Most importantly, would the pain they both suffered because of John Druitt never have occurred?

She shook her head. She understood James' hesitancy toward her now. It was born from foolish, male guilt, guilt that he had taken something that was not his to have. She shut the box brusquely, pushed the chair back, and stood up.

She'd had enough of guilt and pain. It was time they brought joy back into their lives.

The rain began to fall harder, and a strong gust of wind blew against the window pane as Magnus crossed the hall to James' study and knocked.

* * *

><p>"Come in," James said, his rich voice muffled from the closed door.<p>

Watson stood up from his desk as she entered, his face steeled in preparation for her reaction. She crossed to him, but he remained behind the table, keeping his distance still.

"Sally Caulfield?" Magnus asked.

"Was a substitute. It was wrong and unfair of me. She was a good woman."

"And your courtship? She broke it off?"

"Because she surmised my true feelings for you. She was the only one who did."

Helen looked down, her mind reeling. "Why didn't you tell me, James?"

He smiled wryly. "You know why, Helen."

_John._

His presence stood between them now as surely as the desk.

"James…," she started.

"Has been in love with you for years, it's true. John was my closest friend, Helen, and I betrayed him," he said bitterly. "If not physically, then emotionally, intellectually, every other way a man can betray a friend. And since I am being horrendously candid, part of me relished the fact that he hurt you so deeply. I thought you'd never think of him again and turn to me to pick up the pieces."

Magnus paused at that.

"I think you see now why I am conflicted, when it comes to you, darling. It's not for lack of love…or passion."

They both stood silent for a moment, the rain pelting against the window pane.

"I told you weeks ago, James, he's not here." Helen offered quietly.

"But he's in your heart, Helen. Always in your heart…," he trailed off.

Magnus stared at him. James Watson was one of the most confident men she knew, yet he was now lost and uncertain. She made her mind up and walked around the table, her pale dress swishing as she moved. She stood in front of him and reached out to cup his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her.

"Perhaps," she agreed. "But you are here as well, James. You fill it. All of the emptiness he left, you fill," she said, stroking his cheek with her thumb.

"Helen," he started, his face crumbling.

She leaned in and kissed him. He'd never believe her words. All she could do was show him her heart. When she was done, she pulled away, resting her forehead against his. "Love me, James. Like you did in your letters. Please," she whispered.

To stand still or move forward. It was his decision now.

Tentatively, he lifted his arms to her waist and held them there. She could hear his mind spinning, reasoning, calculating as it always did when perplexed. After a moment, he removed his arms and brought his hands to her chin, lifting it up to meet his gaze.

"I love you, Helen," he whispered.

"So you've told me, wrote me," she said. "Now show me," she challenged him. "I won't break."

He smiled. "No, as Lord Benbrook discovered, I think you will not."

The smile quickly left his eyes, replaced with a heat that made Magnus shiver. He dropped his hands to her waist again, tightening his grip and pulling her toward him, their bodies matched from head to toe. He looked at her once more to be certain, and then crushed his mouth against hers, opening it wide, taking in every ounce of her as he did so, her cheeks, her teeth, her tongue.

Helen's hands flew from his shoulders to his hair, running her fingers through his dark locks, her tongue tangling with his, the intensity of his passion wafting off of him in waves and making her body tremble with need. He lowered his hands to her bottom and squeezed. She moaned, pressing her body closer against him.

"James," she mumbled into his mouth pleading with him to continue.

He moved from her lips to her neck, knowing from years of observing her and John how much pleasure she derived from being kissed there. She tilted her head to grant him access, and he licked her pale skin from collar to ear, making her shiver as the warmth of his tongue turned suddenly cold in the air. He played with her ear, teasing it, nibbling her earlobe. Her hands dropped to his back, stroking him, urging him on, the heat inside her building with every touch.

James dipped his head to the hollow between her shoulder and neck and caressed her skin with his lips, his mouth open and wet. Suddenly he bit her, gently, but still she jumped, surprised. He stopped and gazed at her, his face flush, his eyes glazed.

"Perhaps we should go upstairs," he suggested hazily, his breathing shallow, his voice rough.

Helen pulled back to look at him. She'd known this man for years and had never seen such need in his eyes. A shockwave shot from her stomach to her center making her wet with desire. All she could think of was that she wanted him in every way a woman could want a man; the feel of his skin, his coarse hair against her chest, the weight of him pressed against her body, the length of him stretching and filling her.

She swallowed. "Must we?" she whispered making his brow bead with sweat.

James gazed at her, quickly scanned the room, and then bent down, scooping her up in his arms, making Helen gasp in surprise. Her hands flew to his neck to steady herself.

He carried her to the red velvet couch by the empty fireplace and gently laid her down. He stood beside her and removed his vest and shirt, placing them neatly on the chair behind him. He pulled his suspenders down then peeled off his undershirt, exposing his muscled chest, a noticeable bulge pushing against the buttons of his trousers. His eyes never left hers as she watched him disrobe, her arousal rapidly building.

Helen had wondered what it would be like to be with another. Until now her only sexual encounters had been with John, and although it had started innocently, sweetly, it had ended with a harshness that wasn't…natural, she thought. Was it always like that? Would it be the same with James? Would it be different? Would he fill her in ways she had never known before?

James sat down on the edge of the sofa, his arm draped across its back, his fingers lightly brushing her arm bringing forward a row of goose bumps on her skin.

"Will you take your hair down, Helen?" he asked shyly.

She smiled up at him. "Of course." She reached behind her and removed the combs and pins, dropping them on the floor beside her and running her fingers through her hair to loosen it.

James smiled, took a hand and stroked her cheek, then moved it to her hair, running his fingers through it and gazing at it in the same way he did when he'd made a new discovery, one that pleased him.

Helen reached down and began unbuttoning the pearl buttons lining the front of her yellow gown but James reached out to still her.

"May I? Please?" he asked.

The way he said 'please' nearly broke her heart. Unexpectedly, her eyes filled with tears. She couldn't speak. She simply nodded.

He set about unbuttoning her, his hands shaking slightly, his eyes flicking up to hers to ensure he had permission.

_This was new_, Helen thought. Toward the end, John never asked.

When James finished, he pulled back her gown, exposing her chest and the garments beneath. He leaned down, kissing the tops of her breasts. Helen closed her eyes and held him against her, her hands stroking his hair, his temples.

He sat up and took her hands, pulling her up with him until they were both standing face to face. Helen took a hold of the yellow, satiny gown and pulled it over her head. She was dressed now only in her white corset and underclothes, and his eyes widened.

He took the gown from her and set it neatly on the chair behind him on top of his own clothes. He reached to undo the fastenings on her corset, his hands moving with more certainty now. Together they slid the binding off of her shoulders and onto the floor, the rest of her garments quickly following suit.

Helen stood before him naked for the first time, blood pounding in her ears. She closed her eyes. She could hear the rain still falling outside, showering the roof. She breathed deep, opened them, and saw James staring at her, mesmerized.

He reached out and lightly traced her shoulders with his fingers, his eyes drifting from her face to her breasts to her sex and back again. She could see, hear his breathing quicken.

"You are so beautiful, Helen," he said roughly, caressing her arms. "So incredibly beautiful."

He leaned in and kissed her, his hands moving to knead her breasts. She deepened the kiss in response and dropped her fingers to his trousers, searching for the hardness she'd seen there. When she found it, she stroked him through the cloth, and he moaned with desire. James placed his hands on her waist, his lips to her breasts. He carefully kissed the top of her mounds, the sides of her flesh in feather light kisses. He moved to her nipples and she sucked in a quick breath in response, tightening her hand on his shaft, wrapping the other around his shoulder, and pressing her body against him.

James pulled back, dropped his hands down and unbuttoned his pants. He eased them and his drawers off his hips and onto the floor.

He stood naked before her now as well, his eyes dark and apprehensive.

She'd seen him without a shirt before, but never fully naked. He was perfect, as she'd expected he would be: fit, handsome, and well endowed. The sight of him made her yearn to touch him, to feel him inside her. He pulled her toward him, her breasts against his chest, her arms around his back, his arms around her waist, their legs intertwined, warm flesh against flesh.

Gently he guided her back to the couch and eased her down, her body a pale contrast to the soft, red velvet beneath. He climbed above her, careful to keep his weight on his arms.

"I don't want to hurt you," he said, his voice hoarse and low. She smiled at that, wanting to tell him she'd known nothing but hurt with John in the end, but she didn't. He had no place between them here.

"You won't. You don't," she whispered instead and wrapped her arms around his back, pulling him to her.

He kissed her again, then gently eased her legs apart with his knee and entered her carefully, allowing her to become accustomed to him and he to her. She sighed with pleasure. It had been years since she'd lain with a man. She was tight, and he stretched her, filling her completely.

He started to move, slowly at first, tentatively, then faster, deeper within her. Her body responded to him in kind until they fell in sync to the same, silent tune. He kissed her cheeks, her eyelids, the corners of his lips as they moved together.

"Tell me what you like, Helen," he whispered into her ear. "Tell me how to please you."

She wanted to cry. It had been so long since she'd been asked that, so long since John had even pretended to care.

She moved her hand to her center and placed her fingers just so, touching herself. He pulled back to watch her.

"There," she said unashamed, showing him. He sat up, bracing one arm on the top of the couch. The other he laid on top of her hand, letting her guide him, learning from her movements.

"Let me," he said, after a time. Helen slid her hand away, and James replaced it with his own, massaging her the way she had shown him, the way that she liked.

"Yes?" he asked quietly, beginning to grind his hips into her in time with the motion of his hand.

"Yes," she answered, her eyes closed, her head resting against the red cushions. He moved his fingers and hips faster. Her body followed suit.

She was rising up, her pleasure building. He was driving into her, her hips moving up to meet his every thrust. He sped up even more, bringing her closer to the edge.

"I love you, Helen," he choked out.

She was spiraling upwards, climbing, soaring. "James…" she moaned, her nails digging into his arms, her legs wrapped around his back. Her eyes were squeezed tight in concentration. Her heart was pounding, her climax nearing.

"Come with me, darling," he said, working his hand against her, driving into her. "Come with me."

Suddenly she crashed around him and he followed, their bodies pouring into one another's. Helen crested first, her legs trembling wildly, her arms flying about James' neck, her mouth clamping down onto his shoulder to muffle her cry. James followed quickly, groaning with a final thrust, collapsing on top of her. They clung to one another, his chest against her breasts, slick with sweat. He lay still as death, embracing her, his breathing heavy, his eyes shut tight.

"I love you James," she said holding him, her heart beating against his.

He moved to kiss her lips.

"I love you, Helen. I always have."

* * *

><p>It was night when she awoke, and the rain had stopped. The only light in the study was a small lamp on Watson's desk that cast the room into shadow. At some point he had moved underneath her. She rested on top of him now, his arms curled around her waist to keep her from falling, their legs intertwined, their bodies sticky with sex.<p>

She could feel his deep breaths beneath her breasts, the rise and fall of his chest. She knew he was sleeping.

He was such a good man; intelligent, kind, and gracious. She loved him madly. Whether she was in love with him was another matter; one she didn't want to consider now.

"What are you thinking, darling?"

She started at the sound, surprised at his waking.

"Nothing," she lied.

He lay motionless, holding her, letting the lie pass.

"And you?" she asked, trying to divert him. "What are you thinking, James?"

She felt him chuckle beneath her.

"What am I _not_ thinking may be the better question."

She smiled into his chest, playing with the dark hairs that tickled her nose.

"How beautiful you are," he continued, choosing to answer her. "How much I love you," he said, trailing his fingers up and down her back.

She closed her eyes and tightened her grip on him. How could she not love this man?

"Helen, I have a question."

She turned her head to look at him, resting her chin on his chest.

"You know you can ask me anything," she answered.

He hesitated, his eyes unsure. She waited, a sense of anxiety growing. Did he want to know about John? Did he want to know how he compared? She prayed to God not. John had a wildness about him that James lacked. It didn't make John better, only different, she thought.

"What is it, James? Tell me," she finally prodded him.

He looked up at her and stroked her hair, running his fingers through the long, blonde locks.

"Helen," he paused. "Will you marry me?"

Her mouth fell open.

James Watson was a perfect gentleman, a fact that frustrated Helen Magnus to no end.

END


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